Unfamiliar Territory
by Sorrow Reminisce
Summary: SET AFTER SKIN GAMES White has now joined the ranks of the hunted. Alongside the transgenics themselves. Unfortunately, they have a much better chance of survival right now, than he. So what does the future hold for him now?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I so obviously don't own either Dark Angel, Max Allen Collins, or his Dark Angel book, Skin Games.

Spoilers: **Set after Skin Games.**

Note: If you're interested in more White-centric & M/W fics (as well as every other DA sort imaginable) go to The Broken World via the link in my profile (click the pic once you reach my lil old angelfire site and it'll lead you to the emerald city. Uhh.. The Broken World) 

* * *

** Unfamiliar Territory **

by Sorrow

* * *

In frozen horrification, Ames White stared at the television, as it revealed his world collapsing before his eyes. The face of his NSA partner, Otto Gottlieb, now filled the screen. Ames felt the room close in on him as Otto began to relay some of the questionable deeds of his partner that he had been privy to over the past year. 

_{{We have now uncovered a connection between Ames White and the serial killings that have taken place over the past few days. The doubts that I have harboured towards my NSA partner have now materialised into conclusive evidence against him. But I can assure you that as a person who has worked alongside him for several months, this is not the first incident where Special Agent Ames White has twisted a combination of the law, forensic evidence and the lives of others, to further his own hidden agenda...}}_

So engrossed was Ames in watching his life wash down the drain, the sudden shrill ring of the telephone startled him out of numb shock, propelling him from his dazed stupor at last. Grabbing the receiver from it's cradle as if to stifle the sound, he began to bark out a remark regarding the trace he had ordered on the Eyes Only cable hack. Obviously, this sudden change in his future had surprised Ames so much, he was yet to truly recognise just how doomed his future was. 

Barely had he choked three words from his mouth when the voice on the other end of the line cut him off, informing him in a clear cold voice to report in immediately. Focus within the NSA had suddenly shifted from Eyes Only to Ames White. And the spotlight of inquisition was a damning one. 

Now as he slowly hung up the phone, Ames noticed how his hand shook ever so slightly. The message was brief, but it spoke a thousand words. And none of them would save him. He wasn't fool enough to follow the order. In this harsh post-pulse world, it would carry a penalty that even a fellow familiar such as Senator McKinley, could not save him from. 

Ames raised an uncharacteristically unsteady hand and burrowed his face into it. Rage seethed within him. His free hand instinctively clenching into a fist. There was no time to find an outlet for the hatred and panic that burned within him. He had to leave. Before they came for him, as no doubt they would. 

Once again the phone began to ring. Suppressing the desire to hurtle it across the room, Ames White instead spurred himself into action. He strode to his desk and pulled open a drawer. If he hadn't felt so secure about his home security system, he would have held concern in leaving a stack of papers such as these within an oh-so-predicable secret compartment at the back of the drawer. Shoving his contingency plan - his secondary alias that not even the Conclave were aware of - into an inner pocket of his suit jacket, he began to move towards the door. 

But one thing caught his eye and caused him to halt. Turning, he hesitantly approached the desk once more. An oh-so-predictable family photograph perched upon the glossy wooden surface, within a gilded gold frame. Unlike the portrait photograph of Wendy, Ray and himself that stared at him from the wall opposite, this one was much less stoical. A snapshot of a memory - a holiday in another part of the world. One that could even be deemed as sincere. 

As the phone continued to ring, Ames picked up the picture and stood in indecision as he stared down at the image of happier days. His eyes wandered across the laughing carefree face of his son, the smiling trusting eyes of his wife, and his own face - one free from self-reservation and narrow-minded contempt for the world. Well... almost. 

He drank in the details, memorising every feature, before letting the photograph slip from his fingers and land upon the desk once more. It was time to make a new life. And to do that, he had to let go of the old one. 

As the phone finally ceased to fill the room with its piercing cry, Ames exited the house, not bothering to pay the room a parting glance. Time was short. And he'd wasted too much of it already. 

* * *

Ames realised he had been driving in circles, at about the same time he became aware of his mind travelling in the same direction. Through the streets of Seattle he made his way, heading in no particular direction, using his new ID to gain him access through sector check points. Fortunately, it seemed his picture had not yet begun to circulate throughout the sector booths. It had dawned on him as he pulled away from his home, that nowhere was safe. Anger still fuelled him, but it was slowly being smothered by a new feeling. One he was entirely unaccustomed to, and not at all comfortable with. Fear. 

Without doubt, Ames knew that his career within the NSA was well and truly over, the Eyes Only broadcast had revealed information that now made him a wanted felon. There were transgenic haters out there who would see his actions as justifiable. Sure he had set up the murder of an NSA agent and a couple of cops, to put heat on the freaks. But what was a couple of lives taken it was for the good of... mankind?

He had to be insane to think that kind of excuse would sit well within the high court. And besides, Otto held suspicions about the team of Phalanx he had brought into Jam Pony. No doubt that too would soon be investigated. And once they dug back a bit further, it would be revealed that he had the transgenic, Mule, in his custody before the beast was beaten and broken on national television. He was in the vicinity when the blind girl, Annie fisher had been murdered. He blackmailed a transgenic into hunting down his fellow freaks... 

Ames should have disposed of Otto after the Jam Pony fiasco. In hindsight, he realised that he should have allowed Otto in on the mission. Once within the Jam Pony building, he could have taken the guy out himself and pinned the blame on the transgenics. It would have been the perfect set up. It would have worked. And he would never be in this situation right now. 

But unfortunately, in his desire to eliminate the transgenics, namely 452, he had grown careless. He had relied too much on Otto's subservient personality and his own special brand of familiar-bred arrogance. As Ames turned down yet another narrow broken city street, he silently admitted to himself that both his over-inflated ego, and burning hatred for the transgenics, had blinded him. And so by the time he realised the threat that lay in Otto, it was too late. 

Arranging for Otto to meet the sector cop who had the thermal imager had been White's attempt to right the wrong of letting his partner live. He had waited nearby, ready to snatch up the imager before anyone found the bodies in the sector 11 checkpoint booth. But unfortunately, the damned psychotic transgenic had played happy hunter before the cop had the chance to meet with the NSA agent. He should have stepped in and finished the job that the freak Snappy... Skimpy... whatever... had failed to carry out. But he had always preferred to commit murder indirectly. And so Otto had been left alive, and with more questions than ever. 

When Otto phoned to tell him of Dunphy's death, Ames had continued to act foolishly. Ordering him to desert the scene and phone Clemente with news that a transgenic had committed another murder. Then he had ordered his partner to leave. To go on god damned holiday in the middle of a murder inquiry! Ames knew he should have simply finished him off, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to carry out the task. Yet another foolish move on his part. Because by his panicked reaction, he had given the seed of doubt that had crept into Otto's mind, nourishment by which it could grow. 

Now, he couldn't even turn to the protective wing of the Conclave. After his attempt to eliminate 452 during the Jam Pony fiasco had failed, Ames had been called to face a meeting with the Elders. Their anger had been immeasurable and in no uncertain terms, they had warned him that another mistake such as this, would be unforgivable. They felt enough chances had been dished out already. No one had spoken in his defence. Not McKinley, not the Priestess he had consulted with on a few occasions. So long as they felt he was of use to them, they would offer their support, but not when the he stood before the Conclave as one who was dangerously close to being in the very least, excommunicated. 

As his father had before him. 

While Ames illegal activities had been performed for the ultimate benefit of the breeding cult, and often under their order, they were only willing to pat him on the back if he continued to maintain their secrecy. But as things stood right now, there was a wide open chance that the breeding cult would be revealed for all the world to see via Eyes Only cable hacks. The general public would most likely laugh it off - at first. But with Otto's suspicions to back the cyber-journalist's claims, an investigation would be launched. Starting with the 'tactical insertion team' that Ames White had stormed Jam Pony with. The team who were 'on loan from another agency'. The agency in question, being the kind that sought to see all of humanity scoured from the face of the earth. 

There was no doubt about it. The secrecy which the breeding cult had struggled for thousands of years to maintain, now teetered on the edge of being unveiled. And the blame would rest entirely on one. Ames White. 

Perhaps he could bring 452 to the Conclave, and seek redemption. But how? His attempts to trap that damn bitch had always come to nothing. And now she was cocooned within the relative protection of Terminal City, surrounded by hundreds of her own kind like some damned queen. And surrounding them... the National Guard, the US army, and news crews from around the world. She was untouchable - now more than ever. Regardless of whether or not he could eliminate 452, she was no longer the only threat to the existence of the familiars. 

Ames knew that he'd be no better off turning himself into the Conclave, than he would be turning himself into Langford Prison with his hands outstretched and awaiting handcuffs. 

Dragging his thoughts back to the instantaneous present, Ames finally pulled his car against the curb and turned off the ignition. It had been twenty minutes since the Eyes Only broadcast had chased him from his home. Soon, his picture would be _everywhere,_ and with a big fat **WANTED: $50,000 REWARD**sign tagged to the bottom of it. He had to go into hiding while he worked out how to clear his name. But how? Formulate an intense cover of deceit and denial to hide himself behind? Plausible deniability... How when the evidence against him was so damning? When the chance of the breeding cult's cover so precariously close to being exposed? He was expendable to both sides, and he knew it. 

__

Think damn it! Ames slammed his head into the back of his seat while simultaneously punching the steering wheel. This of course did nothing to help his thoughts run any clearer. What the hell was he going to do? His world was collapsing against him, threatening to crush him beneath its weight. And he just wasn't strong enough to hold it back. Never before had he faced this kind of uncertainty. In the past, help would always be a phone call and a _fe nos tol _away. But not anymore. Now, he was truly alone. There was no one else in the world he could rely on except himself. 

He had now joined the ranks of the hunted. Alongside the transgenics themselves. Unfortunately, right now, the freaks had a much better chance of survival than he. 

At that moment, a thought weaselled its way through the frantic confusion that churned within Ames's mind. At first, he shoved it away, tried to bury it beneath the rest of his lost hopes. But it bobbed to the surface once more. As he sat within the car he knew he would soon have to ditch, Ames finally allowed this thought to turn over inside his mind. Examining it back to front and inside out, he soon realised it was the only idea that could possibly work. The only way in which he might be able to exchange this mess of great magnitude for another - albeit smaller, mess. One that carried no penalty of death.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep calming breath, Ames slowly forced the silent screams of frustration inside his head to subside. It was time to accept that drastic measures must be taken to save his own life. And if he had to bite a bullet, he preferred it to be a metaphorical one. Therefore, he had to find his father. 

* * *

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A/N: Thanks Northern Star and Sammie for encouraging more in the way of White-centric writing, and thanks Enigma for giving me a last minute plot. This was just going to be a standalone - a more detailed yada yada on the thoughts that White went through after the EE broadcast at the end of SG, but if anyone's interested, it may just turn into yet another WIP to add to my collection... ?? 


	2. Law of Coincidence

A/N: Thanks to Jenx and Sue for reviewing :D Feedback is always appreciated and definately encouraging *nudge nudge* If anyone is reading this, check out The Broken World for more in the way of Dark Angel fanfiction from a great team of fanfic writers. There's sections on every aspect of Dark Angel fanfiction and discussion. The link is in my profile. Uh, I think?

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**Unfamiliar Territory by Sorrow **

Chapter Two - Law of Coincidence 

* * *

Ames stared at the house across the road with an intensity that suggested he was subconsciously willing it to magically change. Of course, it didn't. With growing agitation, he glanced around at the quiet, relatively deserted street ahead of him, before turning to stare at the building across the road once more. It had been over a decade since he had last been here but now he had returned to the place he'd tried his damnest to forget. 

Though he knew he had been foolish to hope otherwise, this place was obviously deserted. In fact, it was barely standing. No doubt the damn thing was condemned too. Part of him belated this fact, but then - this wreck of a home could work in his favour, Ames concluded. It would at least make a good place to lay low for a while. And perhaps he'd find a few remnants of his father's past that would provide a lead as to where he could be found now. Though, with the heat Sandeman was packing when he disappeared, there was probably little chance of that. 

Stepping out from the car he'd been able to hire thanks to the false ID, Ames strode across the road and approached the rotting villa. Glancing behind him as he reached the door, he quickly opened it and stepped inside. The scent of old wood, oil paint and turpentine instantly greeted his nostrils. Surprised by the relatively fresh chemical odours, Ames was immediately wary. Pulling out his gun and holding it ready, he stepped soundlessly down the hall, all the while trying to figure out what was causing a cold sliver of anticipation to thread its way down his spine. 

The house was a jumbled mess and Ames wondered how many squatters had come to inhabit the place in the past fourteen or so years. As he made his way into the living room, the smell of paint grew stronger, and Ames prepared himself to greet what would likely be a motley group of glue sniffing street kids. 

Instead, his sight met a puzzling array of boards stacked about the room, covered in a melange of seemingly random paint splatters. But what truly startled Ames was the computer equipment which decorated one corner of the room. He stopped in mid step, unsure as to what this meant. 

Crossing the room, Ames took curious note of the assortment of hardware before him. A CPU that appeared as if it were built from scratch, a couple of LCD screens which by comparison to the CPU, were almost brand new... and pieces of hard drive scattered about the desk. The mixture of ancient and hi-tech hardware was a riddle he suddenly longed to solve. Obviously someone was using the house, but who would have need of such equipment in this run down ramshackle dump? Was it someone trying to exist under the radar? As much as Ames didn't want to jump to conclusions, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his father, Sandeman, could be living here after all

Forcing back the urge to investigate this room further, Ames made his way through the rest of the house, checking each room to ensure there was no one laying in wait. Having cleared the ground and top floor, he descended the stairs into the basement. His eyes scanned every area, mentally assessing the surroundings for signs that his father had in fact returned home. There was nothing. Nothing but junk and books and the scent of paint. Whoever had taken up residence in this house since Sandeman deserted it, had certainly developed his father's fondness for sniffing the old fumes. Sandeman had not returned, but Ames had no doubt that the owner of the computer equipment would. Nor did he doubt that he could easily disperse the squatter. 

Returning to the living room at last, Ames pulled up a chair and turned on the computer, curiosity now replacing caution as he waited for the hardware to laboriously flare into life. The monitor blinked on, revealing a blue screen and a password verification. Of course - he should have known it wouldn't be this easy. Picking up a pen that sat beside the monitor, he tapped it against his lip as he pondered on how to get around the password request. Unfortunately, computing had always been something Ames left to the various people who did his bidding. Patience was another thing Ames White was less than well skilled in. And the more he pondered on the password, the more agitated he grew. Finally a conclusion was reached that if he didn't walk away from the stupid piece of shit now, he'd send it flying across the room. 

Switching off the computer, Ames pushed back from the chair and tried to calm his frayed nerves. He paced the room, running an uneasy hand through his hair. His first night as a wanted fugitive had been spent in his car. Having suffered a cramped uneasy sleep, he now longed for the comfort of a shower to refresh himself. He couldn't concentrate, his mind continued to run in circles. If there was some kind of path ahead, be it clear or not, he could at least know which direction to steer in. But there was nothing. Twenty-four hours as a hunted man, and Ames wasn't dealing with it well. He should be better than this. He was a _familiar_ damn it! But the words bashed against the inside of Ames's head with a dull unenthusiastic thud. Relentless, enduring, driven... he was all of these things. But right now, he was also at the very edge of his limits. And the one thing he knew for sure was that he couldn't spend his life running. 

The true hopelessness of his situation fully struck Ames at this point. He'd never find his father. The Conclave had been searching for years and they had resources beyond his capability to imagine. Knowing only anger as a means by which to react, he ceased pacing long enough to drive a frustrated fist through the wall. Sheer willpower and seething anger was all he had left to drive him on, to stop him from giving up. But right now, that wasn't enough. 

Reminding himself that he at least had a place to stay, of which the Conclave had no knowledge, Ames felt grateful for that one small reassurance. This house was a part of his father's life that Ames had for some reason, chosen not to inform the Conclave of. Maybe because he just wanted to forget any connect he had to the traitor. Or maybe there was a small portion of him that wanted to keep a memory of his father to himself. Such a ridiculously sentimental notion should have caused Ames to laugh. But being here right now gave him a sense of familiarity, and that in turn granted a small measure of comfort amid the turmoil of unsurity his life had suddenly become engulfed in. 

Ames hoped that the Conclave hadn't discovered the whereabouts of Sandeman's home via other means. He knew his father had left in a hurry, but had never bothered to care whether Manticore or the Conclave had caused him to abandon the place. He just hoped he was right in assuming it was the former of the two options. 

At that moment a sound outside broke through Ames's ponderings and caused him to freeze. A voice drifted to his ears from the sidewalk. Another voice accompanied it and they were drawing closer. The gleeful grin that had began to slowly creep across his face as he recognised the voices, was stifled by the mental kick he gave himself for allowing himself to be captured by his musings - to drop his guard. There was no place in this room where he could immediately hide and so with no other alternative, Ames exited the living room and ducked into a hallway closet nearby. 

* * *

Logan stepped through the doorway, followed by Max and Alec. Alec's cheerful energetic voice bounced off the walls, causing his two companions to cringe from the intensity of such enthusiasm for... life. Of course, each one of them were oblivious to Ames White's presence. For months now, this place had been a first home for Joshua and a second home for Alec. Its connection to Sandeman had given the transgenics the same sense of comfort in times of strife, that it had now given Ames. Never would they have considered it as anything less than a safe haven. And so believing it to be occupied by no one else except themselves, the three companions (_companions_ being a somewhat loosely used word), made no effort to censor their conversation. 

Passing the hallway closet without a second thought as to its contents, they entered the living room. Max glared at Alec as he sung some upbeat pre-pulse tune beneath his breath, his easy going manner irritating her more so than usual. "God Alec would you calm down? Anyone would think you need Ritalin!" 

Alec turned back to Max and slung an arm casually around her shoulders, his smile not faltering for an instant. He was used to his friend's sullen moods and enjoyed provoking her. Each smart ass quip from him would cause her eyes to light. And although anger and impatience was usually the fuel that lit them, at least she would for a while - seem a little more lively than a sad-eyed dying cat. 

"Oh come on Maxie - join in the good cheer! White is about as much threat to us as a pimple on the ass and thanks to him, the heat is off our backs! For now at least..." 

Max pulled a face from the imagery brought about by Alec's mention of skin eruptions, and shoved him away, a smile haunting the edges of her lips. "How about you stop clowning around? We gotta concentrate on gathering up Logan's stuff while the heat is off us remember." 

Alec sighed at the rebuff and unwittingly turned to Logan for support. The cyber journalist wore a slight frown which deepened as he stated. "You know Alec, some of us around here prefer not to treat life like one big joke." 

"Aint that the truth." Mumbling the words under his breath, Alec rolled his eyes before glancing to Max once more. Finding himself beneath her steel glare too, he turned away like a dejected child and wandered over to the computer equipment. "Aiight then. Let's get this Eye's Only cra.. uh.. stuff packed up and taken to its new home." 

Logan had recently announced to Max that he was the proud owner (under the dummy name of Sowley Opticals) of the Medtronics buildings, situated near the back end of Terminal City. One building was inside the perimeter fence, therefore a part of the permanently quarantined waste land, while the other was on the outskirts - in the safe zone. Linking the two was a convenient tunnel - an essential strike of good luck for the transgenics. 

The story of how Logan had come to possess these twin goldmines was a long and somewhat dubious one, but basically, they had belonged to his uncle Jonas. Being that they were so close to Terminal City and therefore worthless real estate, Jonas had been more than happy to sell them off to his nephew for a pittance. 

Most of Logan's equipment was already in the building outside of Terminal City's perimeter fence. But as far as the authorities knew, the place was uninhabited. Therefore he had decided to leave some of his belongings here in Sanderman's house. But as much as he wanted to keep this place as a safe house, he knew there was no sense keeping a few odds and ends lying around for scavengers to peck at. If the army sprung him hiding out in the old Medtronics building, it would make little difference if he was caught with all or most of his Eyes Only set up. 

Alec turned away as Logan began to unplug cables, and began instead to scan the room. He had an uneasy feeling festering away in the pit of his stomach, but couldn't quite place why. And then his eyes fell upon the fist sized hole in the wall opposite him. That was something he couldn't remember having come across before. 

"Ma-ax..." Turning back to his fellow X5, Alec nodded towards the wall. 

Max put down the armload of odds and ends she'd found herself laden with and wandered over to stand beside him. Examining the hole with a perplexed look on her face, she glanced back to Alec with a raised eyebrow. "This is strange." 

"Ya think?" 

Ignoring her friend's sarcasm, Max turned to Logan who was staring critically at the equipment she had just put down, no doubt pondering over whether they now needed sterilization. 

"Logan, you do this?" 

Her question drew Logan from his thoughts and he looked to the newest source of conversation, his frown increasing. 

"No, of course not!" 

Max tapped a foot as she chewed her bottom lip, trying to figure out how the hole could have appeared. "Well, do you remember if it was it here before?" 

Logan's gaze swept across the room, taking in the general state of disrepair. "You know Max, I really don't think I would have noticed." 

With the somewhat precarious way in which things were arranged in this room, Logan posed a good point. Despite his efforts to houseclean while he had stayed, the rustic beauty of Sandeman's home had long ago fallen into ruin. The economic depression into which the United States had plunged following the Pulse, had inevitably taken its toll. A hole in the wall hardly made a dent when it came to judging the state of decrepitation that the house now wallowed in. What was one more tear in the fabric of an already broken world?

Max now looked questioningly to Alec who simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Mirroring his movement, she sighed in defeat, realising it was a somewhat irrelevant issue to worry over in the first place. "Yeah I guess. Maybe Joshua did it after Annie..." 

Her voice trailed away and the room descended into gloomy silence as all three pondered upon the events that had initially caused Joshua to flee from the memories of Father's house. 

"Uh..." Alec cleared his throat. "So uh, now would be a good time for a bit of good old Alec clownism huh?" 

Without a complaint from either of his companions, Alec began to fill the room with his incessant chatter once more. As his voice swept life's painful issues back under the carpet where they belonged, this time the diversion was a welcome one. 

* * *

From his hiding place in the closet, Ames exhaled a breath of relief in knowing the 'squatters' were not going to mount a full scaled search of the house after all. He had no doubt in his own abilities, but he didn't savour the idea of coming face to face with 452 and 494 both. And in the least, exposure would mean that he would have to find a new hide-away. With the authorities and Conclave likely to both be tightening their nets, slipping through sector checkpoints would be difficult now, even with the alias he had tucked snugly away in his pocket. Having berated himself for causing the spotlight to swing in his direction - yet again, Ames then turned his mind towards making the most of this new situation. 

Despite the need for silence, Ames wanted so badly to laugh out loud. For months, he had been searching for 452. And for months she had forced him to face the embarrassment of his own failure time and time again. Generous amounts of 'off the record' cash had been spent in hunting down her and her kind. The irony lay in the fact that the very one by whom he had become blinded in his desire to capture, had been right under his nose - on his very home ground - all along. And he was only to find out _now_ - now that he was as hunted as she. 

But there could be a way to turn this all around. After all, this strange coincidence couldn't have just fallen into his lap for no reason. As long as the transgenics were oblivious to his presence in this house, he had an advantage of sorts over them. They obviously had some kind of way in and out of Terminal City by which they felt reasonably secure. And then there was the other piece of information he had gleaned - he now knew the face behind Eyes Only. And to add to the irony that was his life, it was a face he had met on a couple of occasions already. Bittersweet that the knowledge was, it was a handy piece of information he could no doubt tuck away for later - rather like a Monopoly voucher. 

"Okay, that's it. We're off." 

Max started towards the front door, a box of gear in her hands. She didn't stop to give the room a silent goodbye. Perhaps she'd return here or perhaps not. It all depended on whether she could count on Terminal City still standing tomorrow and the next day and the next... Nostalgia wasn't high on her list of priorities when the fate of a small nation took up most of her waking thoughts. And besides, she had flown enough coops in her life time to have learnt that a reflective look backwards only serves to make moving forward that much harder. 

"Wait up Max. What about Joshua's paintings?" Alec grabbed her elbow and swung her about to face him. "Aren't they important too?" 

Max huffed impatiently and rolled her eyes. "Josh has the whole of Terminal City to redecorate Alec. What's with the sentimentality? Are you gonna put in an order for Sandeman's piano too?" 

Alec blanched at Max's words and she instantly regretted saying them. She knew Alec hadn't touched the piano in the basement since the night of Joshua's dinner party. It brought up too many painful memories of Rachael and Manticore for him to ever consider playing it again. By making light of the piano, Max had in turn, made light of the wounds that continued to seep inside of Alec. And she had enough wounds of her own to understand the cruelty she had just shown him. 

"I'm sorry Alec..." 

He forced a quick smile and swept the conversation on towards his original point. Now was certainly not the time to linger on such thoughts. "Look, I was just thinking - his paintings fetched a good price once. Perhaps Rita would be interested in buying some more. I mean, there's a lot of uh.. angst expressionism in his stuff. And we may need the bucks to stock up on supplies." 

It was Logan who jumped in and encouraged Max to thumbs up the suggestion. "You never know, it may help to get the message out that transgenics aren't just mindless monsters. And - it's honest money." 

"_And_, it'll help get Eyes Only up and running with some decent equipment - can't forget that." Alec threw in the last comment with a grin, knowing it was a thought that had already surfaced in Logan's mind, but one the cyber-journalist wasn't going to outright bring up. 

"Fine! I see your point. We'll come back tomorrow after we've seen Clemente. Long as the combined powers of the United States are still after Ames White's ass and not our own, that is." 

Exchanging a grin with Logan, Alec nodded his acceptance of the idea as they followed Max out the door. "Yeah the guy's probably thrown himself into the Puget Sound by now. They'll find his body washed up on in a day or two." 

"Yeah, I wish." 

The door closed behind them and as their voices faded down the pathway, silence dropped over the house once more. 

When he was sure they were well and truly gone, Ames emerged from the closet and peered through the front window of the living room. Whatever vehicle they had arrived in, was now gone. But with any lucky, they'd return tomorrow. Stepping over to the paintings that he had barely paid attention to when he had first entered this room, Ames began to work out a plan inside his mind. This was indeed a lucky strike of coincidence. And if he wrangled it right, he could surely worm his way back into the Conclave's good books. For the first time since his life had erupted into one big festering mess, Ames finally began to feel a tiny sliver of hope. Perhaps good things could happen to bad people after all. 


End file.
